Friendship
When you have nothing left, they\'re done with you.
When you have nothing left, they\'re done with you.
The harvest is gleaned, the fields are all bare,
They’ve stripped every rafter and emptied the lair.
The silver is gone, the mantle is cold,
They’ve bartered your story and pocketed gold.
They watched as you folded, they watched as you drained,
Until not a whisper of essence remained.
With pockets all heavy and conscience gone light,
They vanish like smoke in the dead of the night.
For once you are hollow, a shell on the floor,
You aren\'t worth the opening hinge of a door.
They feed on the fullness, the bloom, and the vine,
But leave when the water turns back into brine.
There is no more hunger, no profit to reap,
So they turn from the promise they never could keep.
No mercy, no lingering, no looking back,
Just ghosts walking off on an abandoned track.
They’re done with the vessel, the cup, and the bone,
Leaving you stripped—
And finally,
fully,
your own.